A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door's Lover
by Charon de Rouen
Summary: An AU of what might have happened if the Persian intercepted Erik after he overheard Christine and Raoul's fateful conversation below Apollo's Lyre.


**A/N:** An old short written circa 2014 that seemed like it might enjoy the light of day.

* * *

"No, not this way."

The two young lovers openly stared at the man in the astrakhan cap in shock. Evidently they had not expected to meet the mysterious Persian in so strange a location, but why not? Was this not as normal a place as anywhere else?

"Quick, go away quickly!" he urged, when they did not move.

It was Mlle. Daaé who regained her wits first. Without further hesitation, she seized the hand of the vicomte and dragged him in the direction the daroga indicated. He watched them go, satisfied, then advanced rapidly toward the stairwell originally intended for their escape.

They had been foolish, to be sure, but even Mlle. Daaé, acquainted with only some of Erik's secrets, could not have known that he was called the Trap-Door Lover with good reason in the Persian's country. Erik had eyes and ears everywhere; of course he would have known of their sunset trist on the roof. Nowhere in or on the Opera were they safe.

The daroga knew he had little time to spare if he wished to help his friend. Erik, he knew, was close; he had followed him up and now he would follow him further.

He intercepted him in the eighth floor corridor. He was in a right state, as predicted, and the daroga braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.

"Erik?" he called.

"I am in no mood for your interrogations, daroga! I need not tell you we are no longer in Mazandaran!" Erik snapped the instant he saw him. There were tears streaming down his hideous features.

"Erik, please, we must speak."

"Oh, can't you see I haven't any time for you, you ridiculous Persian? If you know what's best, you'll push off and leave me be!"

"We need to discuss Christine Daaé."

At that, he shrieked and burst into angry tears. "Do not speak that name to me!" He began to huff and bellow without any regard for who might overhear them, eyes wild and rolling. "She has betrayed me!"

"I know she has."

"You do, eh? Gossip travels fast in Paris! Then you should know this as well!" From his pocket he pulled a plain gold band and held it up for the daroga's inspection. It trembled in the light. "I gave her this ring to keep her safe, daroga…! I gave her this little ring of mine and I told her as long as she wore it… she would be protected and Erik would remain her friend... But now, look! _Look!_ She has cast it aside the way she has cast aside Erik…! I warned her of the consequences, daroga, but she did not listen...!"

"It must have been an accident, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, an accident much like the kiss she gave him. In either case, a fatal one. Now get away from me, I have very important business to attend to."

"What are you going to do?"

"I do not answer to you anymore, daroga."

"You're being very rude right now, you know that?"

Erik bared his yellowed teeth in a horrible, rictus sneer. "And you're being very annoying, daroga. I am my own creature here where I do as I please."

"Tell me what you are going to do," the daroga demanded again in a firmer, iron tone.

The monster hesitated, chest huffing, as he scrutinized his old enemy. "I'm going to get her back, if you must know… not that you deserve to… and that's all you'll get out of me on the subject. My love affairs are my own business and no one else's. _Now leave me alone."_

On a dime, Erik whirled on his heel and began to storm away with alarming velocity toward—not the stairwell—but what the daroga feared was the hollow column on the _côté jardin_ whose secrets he had yet to crack. If Erik reached it, he would evaporate like ether within the monumental edifice and the daroga would have to return to the shores of the underground lake to pick up the trace once more. It was time he could ill-afford to waste with Erik's mental state and emotions as ungoverned as they were.

The daroga wasted not a second in chasing after his rapidly departing quarry.

"But do not lose heart, my old adversary," he said, gasping. "You told me yourself she loves you for yourself. We may yet set this to right. Not all is lost. Please, let me help."

The monster stopped and turned his hideous visage towards the Daroga, full of dubious hope. "You would... help me? You would help your Erik?"

"I would. What do you propose?"

A ghastly smile unexpectedly split across the death's head, made all the more frightening by the tears still streaming down his cheeks. He laughed and his eyes blazed in the dim lighting of the corridor. "Not what, but _when_, daroga! _When! _Tomorrow night, I should think… with the scorpion and the grasshopper as my witnesses, by God!... They're very persuasive fellows, you know."

"Erik, tell me what you require."

The monster shuddered, as if shaking off a cobweb or a chill. He took a few steps away from the daroga, then rounded back to face him. He thrust a long, bony finger at the Persian's chest.

"You want to know how you can help me?" he rejoined. "Here's a friendly hint, free of charge—get out of Paris."

"I don't understand."

"You never do, so I'll spell it out plainly: you saved my life, Erik now saves yours. Leave Paris tonight."

The daroga sighed sharply. "Erik, you know full well of what I am capable. Put me to use, old friend."

"We'll find out tomorrow at the eleventh hour," Erik said with that same ghastly smile from before. He began to stalk away once more. "For your sake, be far, far away. That is how you can help me."

It was no use pushing Erik when he had made up his mind about something and the daroga had done all that could be reasonably expected of him. The situation had now proceeded into the realm of the extraordinary where, for the sake of humanity, explanations would be found to satisfy those who could never understand.

Wordlessly, the daroga pulled the pistol from his cloak and fired. Erik, who heard the click of the loading mechanism, turned in confusion, but it was too late. Red gore poured from the monster's throat and he clawed at the gushing wound with his bony hands, but to no avail. He collapsed immediately to the ground, gazing up at the Persian with childish astonishment.

"Daro...ga..." Erik gurgled, the blood spilling from his gaping mouth.

The old police chief took a step back, weathered face grim with pity as he watched the monster's life fade from his eyes. He dared not come any closer. Erik, as long as he lived, was dangerous.

Erik choked weakly one last time, hands clutching convulsively at his neck, and then went still.

The daroga waited several seconds, observing him closely for some last trick, all the while listening for the distant sound of footsteps of some caretaker or workman who might have heard the explosion. But no-one came, to his relief, and at last he knelt beside the cooling corpse of his friend.

"I am sorry, my old friend," he murmured regretfully, reaching out to close Erik's blank, staring eyes. "No more murders for either of us."

With reverence, he collected up the body in his arms and made his way quickly to eastern staircase leading down to the cellars and further below. It would be the last ever seen of the Persian at the Opera.

Come morning, when the ballet rats came for their early lesson, they would crowd about the pool of congealed blood on the fine marble and squeal among themselves, speculating wildly upon its origin, until they were thoroughly late. A general consensus could not be reached in time, which is all for the best, because they never would have believed the truth.


End file.
